Here are some random thoughts from the front line in LA.
Upon landing in LA the first star I spotted was Wil Anderson. Does it count that he was there to pick me up and take me to the apartment he’s letting me stay in? I see him everyday, that is some consistent star spotting, right? I also saw Rick Fox who played for my basketball team the LA Lakers. He did not recognise me. Disappointing. Wil recognised me. I like him more than Rick.

If I saw someone wearing camouflage gear in Australia I would think, “What a tool!” I see someone in LA wearing camouflage gear I have a different response. “Jesus, don’t make eye contact. He’s got a gun. He’s got a freakin’ gun! I bet he hates Australians. Quickly, work on my Canadian accent. Oh he’s passed. Whew. What was there to worry about? I’m fine. I’m really fine. Wait a minute? Is this guy wearing camouflage gear too? Oh my lord, don’t make eye contact. Why don’t I work on my Canadian accent?” Ad nauseum.

I really miss the blind here. I don’t mean my aim is off, I mean we must have more blind people in Australia because so far there seems to be no effort to help them out at the traffic lights here. They’re eerily quiet. No beeps whatsoever. I didn’t realise how much I use the beeps back home but have nearly stepped in front of traffic twice as I have no idea when to cross without them. It’s like LA is suggesting I have to open my eyes more when crossing the road and less time in my own head where everything is made up of superheroes and people who want to interview me about stuff I dig.

The Vegan food here is really tasty. Wil and I may have eaten three nights in a row. As Wil says, “Nothing had to die, nothing had to be killed.” I still laugh every time. It is day three.

I don’t fit in with joggers over here as I jog with my shirt on. Jogging with your shirt off must be the done thing here. Every guy here is ripped to the max so they must jog all the time or at least has some sort of drug dependency problem that allows them to keep that sinewy look. I’m pretty fit but I’m not taking off my shirt. I would blind cars with the sun bouncing off my chest and my stomach, while not being shameful, is not that flat. My stomach is the type of stomach that does me no favours on TV. It protrudes just enough to suggest I’m a fatty underneath. Thanks a bunch tummy! I’m in LA now, I am going to run and run and run until one day I can run with my top off so fuck you tummy, you’re going down.